Set in Stone
by Patrice J
Summary: The Doctor and Rose stumble into a mystery from which there may be no return... TenRose.
1. Chapter 1

_Doctor Who_ is the property of the BBC. I'm just borrowing...

* * *

The cliff jutted out from the side of a steep plateau, hovering precariously above the expansive valley below. Sitting even more precariously upon the edge of the cliff, beside a whitewashed wall, was a blue police call box, its color and composition completely incongruous in its new surroundings. The buildings clustered upon the cliff were constructed from pale, chalky stone blocks that glittered in the glare of the late afternoon sunlight. The trees growing in the cliff's dry soil struggled upward toward the light, their bark and leaves dull and sparse, water and nutrients devoted primarily to the olive-like fruit clustered along the branches.

Above the treetops, a wide white swath stretched around the circumference of the plateau. Its jagged, rough appearance attested to the continued removal of its outer layers. Blocks of stone had been chipped and carved away for centuries, gouging out an extensive trough near the top of the plateau.

The door in the police box swung open, and a booted foot stepped out, dipping for an instant into the emptiness beneath the cliff. A high, startled gasp and a deeper, small chuckle accompanied the sharp jerk that pulled the foot and its owner back into the TARDIS.

"Look before you leap," the Doctor remonstrated cheerfully. "Actually one of Earth's better aphorisms. Well, more like a maxim, really, but not a proverb, is it? Not sure where it originated—don't think it was Shakespeare, might've been Ben Franklin. Now there was an interesting fellow. Way ahead of his time, probably responsible for most of the public libraries and fire stations you lot have today."

A lanky leg snaked around the edge of the doorway, dangling over the steep drop for an instant before the foot planted itself firmly on the cliff. A hand gripped the door frame, then the Doctor's body swung from the doorway to alight gracefully upon solid ground. He extended his hand back toward the open door, waggling the fingers somewhat impatiently.

"Come on, Rose. Make haste, not waste. That really was Franklin. I'm almost certain of it."

"What're you on about?" Rose asked with mock tetchiness as she grasped his hand.

The Doctor pulled her from the TARDIS, trajectory calculated to ensure that her feet landed on the ground rather than somewhere in the air. Still, a little gasp escaped her when she saw the steep drop she'd so narrowly avoided.

"You really should work on your landing skills," she grumbled affectionately.

"And miss this view?" He gestured toward the valley below. "Not on your life."

Rose shook her head. "Yeah, but I don't have any to spare."

The Doctor's attention was already elsewhere. He had clambered over the wall and begun strolling away from the cliff's edge to study the nearest structure. The ship had materialized at the far end of the village. The area was very quiet; Rose thought it was deserted. The shabbiness of the small homes attested to their neglect. Exterior walls had begun to flake and crumble, and the potted plants were withered and brown.

"Last time I was here," he said, "the village was bustling, nearly bursting at the seams. They'd built their homes and businesses on just about every usable piece of cliff."

"How long ago was that?"

He shrugged. "Oh, a few years—maybe seventy-five or a hundred."

"A lot can change in a hundred years," Rose reminded him.

He was bending down to scratch at the stem of the closest potted plant. "But it hasn't been a hundred years since someone lived here," he said. "Looks more like a hundred days."

Rose followed his gaze down to the stem to see a tiny, pale green patch beneath the dried exterior layer. "It's still alive?"

"Barely. It needs water, and from the dryness of the ground I'd guess there hasn't been any rain in six or seven months. Poor thing. It's trying its best to survive despite the odds."

Rose ran a hand over the flaking surface of the nearest wall. "Whoever lived here didn't take very good care of the house."

"On the contrary," the Doctor corrected. "I think they were quite conscientious. They kept water on the plants until they left."

"But this is almost crumbling," she protested, brushing sandy bits from her hands. "Looks like it's been standing here out in the elements for years."

"It gets like that if it's not treated every couple of months. This stone is very chalky and needs to be sealed frequently. If it's done properly, the stone provides great insulation. The houses stay cool all summer long."

"Wouldn't mind being inside one now," Rose said, stepping into the scrap of shade provided by the nearest scraggly tree.

The Doctor had left his overcoat in the TARDIS, but he still wore his suit jacket. She wondered momentarily why his skin wasn't glistening with sweat like hers was. Must be some weird Time Lord metabolism thing…

"Temperature'll drop once the sun goes down," he informed her. "In the meantime, there's a nice sort of lemonady drink they make using the fruit from those," he gestured toward a spiny plant growing between two houses. "Very refreshing—it'll cool you off in no time." He held out his hand invitingly.

After a dubious glance at the indicated plant, she took his hand. "Hope they pull out the thorns first."

"Oh, the fruit doesn't have spines. At least I don't think it does." His thoughts wandered off on some botanical tangent as he led Rose along the path toward the heart of the village.

The Doctor had told her how unique this area of the small planet was in the inhabitants' clever use of the natural resources. The chalky stone was carved out of the top portion of the plateau and used to construct nearly all of the buildings, thus sparing the less abundant trees for agricultural uses.

Rose paused for a few moments to look ahead. The village and its setting provided a striking vista. The paleness of the buildings lining the cliff contrasted gently with the plateau's pinkish stone walls then connected again with the lighter band above. The muted colors seemed to mitigate the late afternoon heat just a little.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the Doctor asked, his gaze running over the scene before them.

"I've never seen anything quite like it," she replied. It was breath-taking, and yet a gentle poignancy nudged at her as her eyes were drawn again to the jagged band from which the stone had been cut. She thought it resembled a massive scar.

Her companion continued walking, chattering amiably. "Thought you'd enjoy it, especially that lemonade. Well, it's not really lemonade, since it's made mostly with those cactus fruits, but I think they do squeeze in a bit of something citrusy."

As they moved away from the outskirts of the village, they saw that the single pathway branched out into several narrow roads, all lined with white buildings. These structures had received more recent care than the more remote ones. Well-tended plants grew in pots and along walkways adorning clean, smooth walls and buildings.

Rose paused to admire a large cluster of flowering plants set upon a wall. A pleasant, spicy fragrance perfumed the air, and she bent to inhale the scent. Cool air brushed over her legs, and she wondered for a moment if the plants were responsible. Their leaves were plump and jade-colored, a rich contrast to the lighter hues all around. She gently pinched a leaf between her finger and thumb.

"That's a bit rude, Rose," the Doctor chided.

Dropping her hand to her side, she looked up. "What?"

He gestured to the plants. "Those are ceremonial. They're called lisseaia, or sillisseia, or something like that. They're used for special occasions—births, weddings, deaths. They've been left here to mark something momentous."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"Well, I don't think anyone saw," he admitted, "but still, it's not usually wise to show disrespect."

Rose looked about. "There's no one around to see."

The Doctor squinted as his eyes searched the area ahead. "Looks a little more inhabited up there." He began to walk again.

The sun was lowering, but its rays remained bright and hot. Rose was still enjoying the coolness around the plants. She held her palms above the leaves but found the air unpleasantly warm. She took a step back then bent to move her hands near the base of the wall. The temperature was definitely lower by the ground.

"Rose," the Doctor called back. "Come on. No time for dilly-dallying."

She hurried forward. "Sorry. Just enjoying a little break from the heat," she said.

He arched an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

"There was this little cool area at the base of the wall," she explained.

"That's not very likely," he replied. "Even though it's white, the wall still absorbs heat. It'd be hotter there, not cooler." He paused to rest his hand on the nearest wall, gesturing for her to do the same. "See. It's warmer than the air."

Rose shrugged. "This part is. That part back there wasn't."

He regarded her for a moment then said, "Let's find some of that lemonade. I think you need to get out of the sun."

* * *

The hush of the deserted outskirts yielded to a bustling core within the village center. Here the streets were crowded with people. The buildings had an overflowing feel, too, with clotheslines hung from nearly every window and residents sitting on the small balconies performing various household tasks. She saw women sewing and stirring bowls, men repairing shoes and small pieces of furniture, and children playing patty-cake and other games that the small spaces could accommodate. Among the people walking along the roads she saw very few children. The same was true for the patrons sitting outside the café she and the Doctor were approaching. 

He led her to a shady table then slipped inside. When he returned a few minutes later, he held two tall glasses of pink liquid. He handed one of the glasses to her then sat down.

"A waiter's going to bring us a pitcher," he said, taking an enthusiastic and generous swig. He smacked his lips happily. "Mmm, just like I remember."

Rose took a sip of her drink. It wasn't particularly cold, but the slightly tart flavor had a pleasantly cooling effect. "'S good," she said.

The Doctor's glass was empty. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table top as he watched the door. When a waiter stepped through carrying a large pitcher, he grinned in anticipation.

"Thank you," he said as the server refilled his glass then deposited the pitcher on the table. "Delicious as ever."

The waiter nodded tiredly. "Enjoy it while you can."

The Doctor paused mid-swallow to ask, "What?"

"You've got one of the last pitchers. We're almost out of fruit."

"But there's lots more growing outside the village. We saw it as we came in," Rose countered.

The waiter's eyes widened in surprise. "You travelled here?"

The Doctor nodded. "We're just passing through, really."

"You aren't planning to continue on tonight, are you?"

"Probably." He finished his second glass, and the waiter poured another serving.

"You should stay the night here," he said gravely.

Rose watched the Doctor's arm as he lifted the glass toward his mouth then stopped abruptly. His expression shifted from one of idle pleasure to one of piqued curiosity.

"And why is that?" he asked, setting the glass on the table.

Rose knew he was interested in the answer now.

"You haven't heard about the—" the waiter hesitated for a second before uttering the last word, "accidents?"

"We just arrived a little while ago," Rose said. "We haven't really spoken to anyone yet."

The Doctor's keen eyes swept over the crowded village, comprehension flooding him. "They've all gathered here, in the center. That's why the fringes are deserted."

"There were plants, though—plants that someone left recently," Rose reminded him.

He nodded slowly. "Ceremonial plants." He looked up at the waiter, his expression utterly mirthless now. "They were to remember the dead, weren't they?"

"Yes," the server replied. "Their families left the flowers where the bodies were found."

"What happened to them?" Rose asked softly, trying to keep her tone reverent.

"No one knows, really," the waiter replied wearily. "The constable couldn't find any injuries or marks on the bodies."

"An illness perhaps," suggested the Doctor.

"Not likely," the waiter responded. "They were all young and healthy. Their bodies didn't show any signs that they'd been sick, either. At least that's what the constable's told us."

"How many?" the Doctor asked somberly.

"Twenty-six."

Rose felt chilled despite the persistent late afternoon heat. "How long's it been going on?"

"Just over a month."

The Doctor stood. "Only on the outskirts of the village?"

The waiter nodded. "So far nothing's happened in this area, but everyone's scared."

"Where can I find the constable?" he asked.

Rose got to her feet, too, as the waiter provided directions. The visitors hurried from the café, the nearly full pitcher on the table completely forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

The constable's office occupied a tiny space between a bookshop and the local schoolhouse. Its location and size implied a distinct lack of need for the lawman's services. The door was unlocked, so the Doctor gave a perfunctory tap then sauntered inside.

A marginally rotund, gray-haired man sat behind a small desk nursing a mug of tea. His clothing was disheveled, and his eyes had the bruised look of one who has eschewed sleep in favour of other more pressing matters. He glanced up with a tired query of "Yes?"

The Time Lord extended his hand. "Constable? I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose, and we're here to help."

She smiled at his distinct tendency to get right to the heart of the matter.

"Help with what?" asked the constable, standing. His chair scraped dryly across the stone floor.

"With the unexplained deaths, of course," replied the Doctor. "Tell me everything you know."

The constable frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, but who are you, and why should I tell you anything?"

The Doctor sighed. "I've already told you who we are, but if you need to know more…" He reached into his pocket for the small folio containing the psychic paper then opened it and held it out to the constable.

The lawman squinted a bit as his eyes moved over the paper. "Oh, well that's all right then. Thank you for coming. I'm Constable Greare." He gestured toward a small bench beside the wall.

Rose and the Doctor sat and listened patiently as he provided details about the incidents. Granted, he knew little more than their waiter had, but he shared the information eagerly, obviously glad for whatever help the visitors could provide.

They learned that indeed twenty-six bodies had been discovered, thus far all toward the outer edges of the village. None had been found in exactly the same place, but all were discovered very near the wall at the edge of the cliff. Ages ranged from early twenties to late forties, and the male to female ratio was nearly equal. There was no apparent pattern to the victims and no overt connections between them.

"Were there any injuries or marks on the bodies?" asked the Time Lord.

The constable shook his head. "Nothing. Our doctor looked them over too, of course, and he couldn't find anything—no signs of disease, nothing to explain their deaths."

"Could something have scared them to death?" Rose suggested.

Greare scowled slightly. "No, I'm sure that's not possible"

She knew for a fact, of course, that such things were indeed possible, but she decided it wise not to comment further.

"Have you considered if anyone has a motive for doing this? Are there any feuds or rivalries among your citizens?" asked the Doctor.

The constable shook his head. "Honestly, no. We all get along well." He smiled a bit shyly and added, "We do have a mayoral election coming up, but it seems that I'm the leading candidate since I'm currently running unopposed. Aside from that, I suppose there are occasional arguments and misunderstandings, but until this all began the only crime we ever had here was the occasional robbery, and that was nearly always committed by someone passing through."

The Doctor sprang to his feet. "Show me the bodies," he said without preamble.

Greare's brow creased in confusion. "The bodies? We cremate them Where exactly did you say you're from?"

"I didn't," replied the Doctor. "Are there no remains at all?"

"The last two victims," the constable responded, "are still lying in state. The services for one will be tonight and the other tomorrow."

"The cremation is done at the service?" Rose asked.

"No, of course not—shortly before." The lawman seemed to find his visitors' lack of knowledge about his society's customs rather appalling.

"Take me to them," the Doctor said, already walking to the door.

Greare escorted them a short distance down the street then into a deep alley. The alley led to the base of the plateau, against which a huge rock fitted snugly. The constable enlisted the Doctor's and Rose's assistance in rolling the stone away to reveal a small sort of crypt which had been carved into the rock. In this tiny, dark room lay the two bodies, each resting upon a stone plinth.

Greare lit a lantern, and Rose held it over the pale, still figures. She had seen her share of death in her time with the Doctor—surely more than most young women had ever had to witness—yet still she felt an overwhelming sense of loss as the light bathed the pallid bodies before her. For just an instant her hand shook as she struggled to gain full control of her emotions.

The Doctor glanced up at her. He was frowning, and at first she thought he was displeased with her for failing to hold the lantern steady. But the tightness of his brow and sharp arch of one eyebrow conveyed his own feelings of sorrow to her. He took a sharp breath then looked back down at the still form before him.

He ran the sonic screwdriver over each body with some care and spent a few minutes studying the ashen skin and sightless eyes of each victim. He kept quiet as he worked, and she saw that his mouth remained in a grim, tight line.

"How long are they kept in here prior to cremation?" he finally asked, turning away from the lifeless young man on the slab.

The constable answered, "Normally three days."

"When were these two found?" the Doctor queried.

"Three days ago," the lawman pointed to the young man then indicated the woman, "and four days ago. With so many deaths it's been difficult to arrange the services as quickly as we usually do."

"And they were brought here immediately after they were found?" the Doctor continued.

"Shortly afterwards. They were taken to the doctor's house first, but of course there was nothing he could do."

"The stone keeps it cool in here," the Doctor commented tonelessly, "and that," he gestured toward the massive rock that acted as a door, "seals the chamber, makes it airtight, doesn't it?"

Greare nodded. "It helps preserve the bodies. It's our custom to permit family and friends to view the body just before cremation. With the heat—well, I imagine you know what that can do, how it can speed up decay."

Rose wrinkled her nose but said nothing. Her gaze moved to the Doctor. She could see that he was working to suppress anger and remain externally calm, but she had no idea what could have stoked his ire. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that these two limp shells had once been vibrant human beings. She placed a questioning hand on his arm. His only response was a brief, grim glance at her before he strode from the crypt.

He helped the constable replace the stone seal then leaned back against the wall, studying the lawman intently for several seconds. Rose could tell that he was assessing the man's character and motives, his probing gaze searching for evidence of willful deceit. Finally he exhaled then pushed his body away from the wall.

"I'd like to see where each of them was found," he said.

"Every one?" Greare asked.

"Yes."

The constable sighed, clearly taxed by the unusual difficulties plaguing his town. "All right. I'll take you first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'd like to see the locations tonight," countered the Time Lord.

"It'll be dark soon," Greare replied. "It's not a good idea to be out there at night. All of the bodies were found in the morning—we think the killings happened while it was still dark out."

"Which is exactly why we need to see where they occurred while conditions are similar."

"Doctor," Rose said, "do you have an idea about what's happened?"

He met her gaze. "No, not yet. That's why I need to see where the deaths occurred, under the same conditions."

The constable was shaking his head. "It's not safe, Doctor. I really can't permit you to go—"

"Oh, I think you can, and you're going to take us." His tone left little room for argument.

When he fixed his eyes upon the lawman, any resistance the human had felt was forced away.

"The nearest location," Greare said, swallowing hard. "I'll take you there, and I can point out several others to you, but I have to return here after I've done that."

"The flowers," Rose recalled. "Are they placed where the bodies are found?"

The constable replied, "Yes."

"That'll help us find the spots, then," she said.

The Doctor nodded, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Let's get going then." He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and brushed past the constable, Rose following in his wake.

Rose and the Doctor trailed the constable through the village, moving in the opposite direction from which they had arrived. She thought that was best; surely the lawman would notice the TARDIS if they neared it, and the harried fellow certainly didn't need anything else to rattle his already tenuous composure.

The activity in the community had moved inward as sunset approached. The streets at the center of the village were even more crowded, and it was only the constable's presence that allowed Rose and the Doctor to pass through with a minimum of shouldering and shoving. She watched the residents' reactions to their local law enforcement. While everyone moved aside for him, the greetings they offered were terse and cursory. Rose had the distinct feeling that he was bearing the blame for the deaths simply because he could not determine who had caused them and had been unable to stop them.

As they reached the farther edges of the village, all signs of human life vanished. The homes here, like those along the other periphery, were deserted. Shadows stretched from the buildings to the wall that hugged the cliff's edge. In the diminishing sunlight, the striking brightness of the village faded, leaving only dull, dim shapes that seemed utterly devoid of life and hope. Even the ripe, pink fruit sprouting from the prickly cactus plants seemed muted and gray in the crepuscular gloom.

Greare stopped abruptly, pointing to a potted plant atop the wall. "Here's where we found the last one."

"The boy?" asked Rose, remembering the gaunt yet youthful face that had lain beneath the lantern light.

The constable nodded. "He was lying just here." He tapped at the base of the wall with his foot.

The Doctor bent immediately to run his fingers along the wall. His eyes moved over the surface quickly, then he donned his glasses and studied the wall with greater care.

"No blood," he said, "or hair, or fabric, or anything that would indicate a struggle." He gestured toward the small clump of cacti growing only a few feet away. "No broken pads or fruit, either," he observed.

"No," Greare responded, "I checked for all of that, too."

"What position was the body in?" inquired the Time Lord.

Greare shrugged. "Just laid out, on his stomach, with his arms at his sides." He moved his own arms slightly to imitate the position.

"So his hands were on the ground. Was his head turned, or was he face down?" asked the Doctor.

"Turned," Greare replied, "I think."

"Show me," the Time Lord said, inclining his chin toward the ground.

The constable shook his head. "Look, Doctor, I've brought you out here and told you what I can. But I'm not getting down there." He pressed a hand over his hip. "My back won't take it. If I get down there, I'll never get back up."

"I'll do it," Rose offered. "Just tell me what to do."

The Doctor gave her a nod of appreciation. She moved to the wall then lay down on her stomach. The ground was cool, and she felt a light breeze brush over her face.

"How do you want my hands?" she asked.

"Palms down, up near your head," Greare instructed.

Rose complied, turning her face to the wall as well. "This it?"

"Yeah, just about," the lawman said. "His fingers were touching the wall, I think."

Rose moved her hand and allowed her fingertips to rest over the whitewashed stone. Cool air caressed her palm. She breathed in the freshness, the lightly floral, almost heady scent that must come from the cactus fruit. She wanted to immerse herself in it, permit the sweet coolness to bathe her, to envelop her… Rose rolled closer to the wall.

"Rose!" The Doctor's voice was sharp, and she felt him abruptly grab her shoulder.

She blinked in the shadowy light. Her body was pressed up against the wall, one hand flat on the warm surface, the other stretched out above her head. Something was prickling her more distant palm, and she moved her eyes to see that her hand lay against the base of the nearest cactus. She quickly jerked it away as the Time Lord pulled her into a sitting position. He crouched down beside her.

"What the hell were you doing?" he asked, confusion and concern only slightly outweighing the remonstration in his tone.

She shook her head. "I dunno. I just—" The prickling sensation in her hand was quickly shifting to a burning itch; she lifted her arm to study her palm for a moment before glancing up at Greare. He was watching her curiously. She added, "I thought he might've moved while he was lying there."

"No," replied the lawman. "The dirt wasn't disturbed at all. I looked like he just fell where he was standing."

"Oh." She frowned at the tiny, fine spines in her palm then scratched at one with a fingernail. "Ow."

The Doctor took her hand and ran his fingertip very lightly over her palm then delicately pulled a spine from her skin. She tried not to wince. He continued removing the little stickers as he spoke, alternating his gaze between her hand and the constable.

"Were the other bodies all in similar positions?" he asked.

Greare nodded. "Pretty much. And there wasn't any evidence of a struggle with any of them."

"Were they all lying right by the wall?" Rose inquired.

"The wall or the edge of the plateau—at the least the ones I saw. The first few were found by their families and brought in before I could have a look. After that I told everyone that they needed to leave the bodies as they were until I could see them."

"Good man," the Doctor complimented simply yet sincerely.

Greare shrugged. "Seemed the right thing to do, but it hasn't really helped, has it?"

"Perhaps not yet, but we still have twenty-five more crime scenes to visit," the Doctor replied. He ran his thumb over Rose's palm then lowered her hand with a quick inquiry of, "All right?"

"Yeah, better," she said. "Thanks."

He stood and extended his hand to help her to her feet. "So where's the next one?" he asked.

Greare's eyes were on the darkening sky; he was frowning worriedly. "Follow the wall about thirty yards. You'll see the flowers." He gestured with his hand to indicate the direction.

"And the next one?" asked the Time Lord.

"Keep going in the same direction. There's another flower pot on the wall maybe fifty yards down, then you'll see the third site at the base of the plateau, only a few more yards away. If you just keep walking and look for the flowers you won't miss the locations."

The Doctor offered his arm to Rose. "Feel like an evening stroll, Miss Tyler?"

She slipped her arm through his with a small smile.

"Doctor," Greare said gravely, "this isn't a joke. Twenty-six people are dead, and we have no idea what killed them. You really shouldn't be out here after dark. Come back with me, and we'll head out at first light—"

"Nope," the Time Lord replied. "I have a feeling that time is of the essence here."

The constable sighed. "That's what worries me. Since everyone's moved to the center of the village we haven't had any further incidents, but if you're out here—Doctor, there were several nights when two people were killed. I'm afraid that whoever's doing this is just waiting until the next victim or victims present themselves. You may be walking right into his arms."

"Well, we've dealt with worse, I'm sure," the Doctor winked at Rose then gave Greare a reassuring grin. "We'll see you in the morning, for breakfast. How's that sound? Bacon, eggs, some nice little muffins with those tiny blueberries and maybe some nuts. Do you have blueberries here? No, probably not. I suppose bananas aren't on the menu either—"

The constable sighed again. "Please, just be careful."

"Oh, we always are." The Doctor gave Rose's hand a small tug then began to walk away, smile yielding quickly to a tight frown as he called over his shoulder, "If you find any more bodies before we return, don't put them in the crypt until I can have a look at them."

"But we have to," Greare began to protest.

"It'll only be until morning," the Doctor said, "and it's important."

The constable gave a reluctant nod then hurried away.

"So what d'you think it is? What's doing this?" Rose asked.

"I don't think it's human," he replied.

"Yeah, that's what I reckoned you were thinking."

"Yes? And why's that?"

She offered him a small grin of her own. "You wouldn't be this interested if it was just some mere human homicidal maniac."

He arched an eyebrow at her as his mouth twitched into a smile. "You know me too well."

"So any idea what it is, aside from not human?"

"No, not yet."

Rose rubbed her palm against her leg. The skin still stung and itched rather fiercely.

"Hand all right?" he asked with a quick glance down.

"Just itches a bit."

The moon had risen, reflecting wan silver light from the raw stone of the plateau. The Doctor stopped to ignite the lantern he carried then held it up as he lifted her hand. In the new illumination, she could see that small red bumps peppered her skin.

"Looks like the spines left a little irritation. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, just feels kinda scratchy. I'm sure I'll survive."

"Yes, I think you—" His fingers closed suddenly around her hand. "Unless you don't."

Rose inhaled quickly. "What?"

But the Doctor's expression had become distant, and she knew that his thoughts were racing beyond her capacity to follow. She waited rather anxiously until he returned his gaze to her. He studied her face for several seconds, taking a few moments to lift one eyelid and lean in to peer carefully at it. Then he reached into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver. He switched it on and waved it over her.

"So you were saying about me surviving," she reminded him with forced levity.

"Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about," he replied, tucking the small instrument away. "I don't see any signs of poisoning."

"Poisoning?"

"I thought it might've been a possibility. Maybe there was something in the cactus spines that killed all those people—although that seems fairly unlikely, given that the fruit is perfectly safe to consume. And really, if the spines did contain a toxin, I'm sure Constable Greare would be aware of it. Unless it was some sort of spontaneous genetic mutation. He shrugged. "It was worth a shot, though."

Rose rubbed at her itching hand again. "I'm glad that one misfired."

He smiled gently. "Me too, Rose." Lifting the lantern again, he said, "Come on, we have places to see, possible deaths to prevent, and miles to go before we sleep."

He led her through the warm night toward the next flowering plant soberly adorning the wall.

The Doctor examined the crime scene carefully, once again running his hands over the wall, studying the soil, and even testing several small pebbles for remnants of blood by flicking his tongue over them. The light from the lantern spread in a pool over the area.

Rose stood beside the crouching Time Lord, absently moving her itchy hand over the slightly rough fabric of her jeans. She wasn't even aware of the tiny scritching noise her movements made until he looked up at her with a slight frown.

"Do you mind, Rose?" he asked with just a touch of irritation. "That's a bit distracting. I'm really trying to concentrate."

She stilled her hand. "Sorry. It's getting even scratchier."

He glanced toward the edge of the plateau and gestured with his hand. "Aloe."

"Yeah, 'ello to you, too, but I'm still right here," she reminded him.

"No, Rose, aloe—the plant. It's got long, pointed leaves, sort of grayish blue in color. I noticed some growing over there. Break off one of the leaves and rub it over your hand. The chemicals in the sap should help with the irritation."

"Oh, right," she nodded.

She began to walk away, but he called her back and insisted that she take the lantern. "Last thing we need is for you to tangle with more cactus spines," he said as he handed her the lamp.

"I'll be right back," she replied.

He was already involved in his next task, which seemed to require that he stretch out upon the ground and run a finger along a small crack at the base of the wall. Rose turned away.

She found the aloe plant easily enough and snapped off a small portion of one of the branches. It contained a sticky-looking, thick liquid. She dabbed it over her palm, feeling relief from the irritation almost immediately. She grinned and called back, "Thanks, Doctor. It's working like a charm!"

In the moonlight, she could see that he still lay beside the wall. She thought he had moved a little closer to it. He did not respond to her comment, however. That was just like him to become so wrapped up in his ruminations that he failed to acknowledge her. So she tried again as she began walking back to him.

"Doctor! The aloe's great. Little sticky, but I can't even feel the itch anymore."

Still he did not reply. Indeed, he lay without moving. Rose stopped walking for an instant, watching him; then her breath hitched and she began to run. She reached the Time Lord quickly and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Doctor!" she cried, shaking his shoulder. "Come on, snap out of it!"

She shoved him onto his back so that she could see his face. It was utterly still and eerily white in the lamplight. His eyes were closed. She patted, then slapped, his cheeks, saying his name over and over.

By the time she placed her palms over his chest, her hands were shaking. She waited to feel the odd double rhythm of his hearts, but his body was cool and motionless beneath her warm hands. She pressed more firmly against his chest, but there was nothing.

"No," she murmured, "you can't do this. Wake up. You have to wake up!" She shook him hard. His head lolled lifelessly from side to side. "Doctor, please," she pleaded, dropping her head to his chest. She held her breath and listened. She heard nothing but the gentle shushing of the light breeze as it brushed through his hair.

Rose's eyes stung with tears as she lifted her head. Placing her hand against his cheek, she said, "You told me Time Lords have a trick to cheat death—I saw you do it—I know you can. It's all right, Doctor. Go ahead, do it. Change again. You need to do it to save your life."

She waited, watching his face for any sign of regeneration. She was not quite sure what to look for; she had a vague memory of blinding light encompassing him when he had done it before. There had been those wisps of iridescent gold, too, that he exhaled while he was recovering. But now he lay without moving, his skin growing colder beneath her palm. There was no glow, not even a flicker of light.

And then the terrible thought struck her. Something had done this to him. Her eyes darted all around, searching for movement. Her scalp began to prickle with suspicion. There was a very real chance that she was not safe out here alone. Yet she deplored the thought of leaving the Doctor. Maybe there was still a chance that he would change, that a new man would emerge from this lifeless body. But if he did and found that she had been killed waiting for him, she knew that he would feel deep and terrible regret.

Rose wiped a hand across her wet cheeks then bent to press a kiss over the Doctor's forehead. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't know what else to do."

She forced herself to her feet and, with a single long look back at the Time Lord, stumbled hurriedly away.


	3. Chapter 3

She found Greare in his office. He listened with alarm and growing sadness as she told him what had happened. Her voice sounded hollow, and her throat ached fiercely, but she managed to convey the dreadful news without crying.

The constable wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and offered her a drink, but Rose shook her head.

"We need to bring him back here. I don't want him lying out there all alone. And we have to go now. We're not waiting 'til morning."

"Miss Tyler, it's not safe," he began.

But she was resolute. "You'll need a couple men to help you, right? So there'll be what, at least four of us? Nothing's going to happen in a group that size."

The constable opened his mouth to protest, but she continued.

"The only victims you've found were alone, weren't they?"

Greare nodded. "Yes."

"Then there's no danger if we're all together." The pitch of her voice rose despite her efforts to sound rational and calm.

"All right," he replied sympathetically. "I'll get some men to help."

"Take your doctor, too," she said more sharply than she intended. "We need to make sure—there's a chance that maybe he's not…" Her voice trailed off as she felt the tears welling in her eyes.

"Yes, of course," the constable said, and she hated the placating tone of his voice, but she understood that he was trying to be kind.

He encouraged her to sit and rest, but she insisted on accompanying him and the small party that left the heart of the village to retrieve the latest victim. Each member of the little group held a brightly glowing lantern, and everyone but Rose gripped a pistol at his side. Even the village's doctor carried a gun; she saw it poking out of the top of his bag.

She led them to the prone figure, running ahead in the faint yet resilient hope that she'd find the Doctor changed. If that were the case, she would need to come up with some excuse to send the rest of the group away. His little Time Lord trick was the last thing she wanted to have to explain. Yet she would gladly have spent the next week doing just that if only she had found him alive in any form. He still lay motionless and gray upon the pale earth.

She dropped to her knees and touched his face. His skin was now cold and slack beneath her fingertips. She felt the cold seeping into her, too, from her hand to her arm, spreading up through her chest, down her legs, and suddenly she realized that she was shivering.

"Here, Miss Tyler, come with me and let Dr. Turia have a look." Greare placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her up then guiding her shaky legs back a few feet.

They waited silently until Dr. Turia stood and turned to face them. His expression was grave as he said flatly, "Same as the others."

"Is there anything… any sign of life?" Rose asked quietly.

The doctor shook his head somatically. "No, miss. I'm sorry."

"But did you really check? Did you check his hearts—heart?" Her voice grew louder and the words came faster. "I meann, he could be in some sort of coma or something, so you have to check really carefully—"

Greare's arm tightened around her shoulders. "Miss Tyler, you can see that he's gone. I'm sorry. I wish you two hadn't been out here…But there's nothing to be done now." He looked up at her. "We need to get him out of the heat and let him rest where it's quiet and cool."

The men lifted the Time Lord into their arms and began carrying him away. Rose pulled herself from the constable's avuncular embrace so that she could walk at the Doctor's side. No one spoke until she finally said, "What now?"

Really it was more a question for herself—a reminder that she had to think, had to keep her rationality. There would be many decisions to make, many issues with which to deal. She would have to decide what to do for him, what he would want. Thoughts of burial and cremation were too overwhelming at the moment, however, so she shifted her consideration to her location. She had no desire to remain here; indeed, she wanted to get as far away as possible. She needed to go home, to see her mother and feel the safety of her arms. But could she work the TARDIS by herself? Was there still some sort of failsafe that would return her home again, just as the ship had done months ago?

She lifted her hand and slid it into the Doctor's coat pocket. She wanted to remove the sonic screwdriver; she might need it, and even if she didn't, she wanted to keep it in her possession. She knew he would want her to have it. But she found only a few pebbles in the oddly large pouch. She checked his jacket and trousers, even telling the men to stop so that she could gain full access to each pocket, but the device was gone. It must have fallen out, or perhaps he was using it when he was attacked.

"I have to go back," she said, already turning and lifting her lantern to illuminate the dark path.

"Miss Tyler," Greare questioned gently, clearly worried about her state of mind, "what for?"

"There's something of his, something I need to find…" She hurried away.

"Miss Tyler!" the constable called after her. "Wait!"

She could hear snippets of the discussion that ensued. The men were already anxious about being so far away from the village center and so near the crime scenes after dark. Greare wanted them to wait while he accompanied her, but they insisted that they needed to return to safety as soon as possible.

The voices faded as she moved through the darkness. Greare was calling to her, but Rose did not care. Her sole thought was the screwdriver; if she focused on that and only that, she did not have to think about the morning and the wrenching loneliness she would feel when the full gravity of the night's events sank in.

Rose felt no fear. Some small part of her mind told her that she should, that whatever had taken the Doctor from her was still lurking, still waiting for the next victim. But she pushed the tiny, niggling thought far away because it did not matter; nothing mattered now except retrieving the one thing of his that she could hold onto.

When she reached the site where he had lain alone for more than an hour, she set the lantern on the ground. She sank to her knees, hands reaching out to pat at the dirt. Her eyes searched the ground, at first scanning almost randomly but then with more concentration, in widening circles. She tried to visualize how he had lain, the position of his hand when she had found him. Surely the screwdriver would lie where he had dropped it.

Rose moved the lantern and stretched out her own hand, fingers touching the base of the wall. There she noticed a small crevice, and her fingertips brushed against something cool and metallic. As she scooted closer, a gentle breeze caressed her cheeks, calming her, soothing her. She exhaled a long sigh, and she felt her body relax. Her limbs became liquid, her eyelids closed unbidden, and darkness cloaked her, stealing all remnants of thought. Rose's hand dropped from the wall to lie limply next to the misplaced screwdriver.

* * *

Greare had convinced Dr. Turia to accompany him to retrieve Rose, appealing to the man's professionalism; the distraught young woman probably needed sedation.. But when the constable found her, he did not require the physician's expertise to determine immediately that she, like her companion, was dead.

The constable, ignoring the protests of his sore back, carefully lifted Rose into his arms and carried her back to the village.

* * *

She stood in darkness. She could feel cool stone beneath her feet, but she was still disoriented. She had the oddest sense of floating, yet clearly she was grounded. Rose lifted her hands to her face, rubbing her cheeks and eyes in the hopes of clearing some of the fog from her bleary mind.

Slowly she began to feel less distant, and as her thoughts sharpened she found the darkness fading to a dim, twilight gray. She discovered that she stood in a narrow stone tunnel. A quick twist of her head showed that there was solid rock behind her, so she walked forward.

She only required a few dozen steps to reach the end of the tunnel, but in that short time her thoughts raced. She had been outside, next to the wall, reaching for the sonic screwdriver, and then she had felt so lethargic, so dull. She remembered the enveloping blackness and the distinct sense of corporeal loss. Her body had suddenly seemed distant to her.

She ran her hand over the smooth stone beside her. It was so familiar, but she could not quite recall where she had seen it before. Then she felt a tightness in her chest and throat, and she remembered experiencing a momentary sense of deep loss as she had stood beside the Doctor holding the light over the two lifeless bodies.

Rose stopped and suppressed a gasp as understanding flooded her. She had seen these stone walls and felt this same overwhelming sadness in the crypt. It had been dark inside, and she could not recall whether there was a tunnel at the back, but she felt certain that there was, and that she was in it now. She must have lost consciousness by the wall and somehow been mistaken for dead. She had been placed in the crypt.

She ran the last few feet to emerge from the tunnel into a large cavern. She blinked in confusion. She had expected to find the small room with the bodies. Maybe she had missed an obscured branching passage, or perhaps she had been too hasty in her assessment of the structure initially.

The cavern was nearly as dim as the tunnel; shadows shrouded the outer edges. But one bit of shade flickered then abruptly moved. Rose stood very still, watching as a figure emerged from the murky light.

A tiny grunt of surprise escaped her lips as recognition jolted through her.

"Doctor!" she cried, running toward him.

He swiveled his head to look directly at her. Yet instead of the joyous grin of greeting she had expected to see on his face she found a tightly furrowed brow and compressed lips.

"Rose." His voice was dull, muted in the gloomy atmosphere.

She didn't care. She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. For several moments he remained still, but finally she felt his hands move up to rest against her back.

"You're alive," she murmured into his chest. "I thought you were dead—but you're alive!"

"How did you get here, Rose?" he asked, pulling back to look down at her.

"I think I must've passed out or fainted or something and they brought me back."

"Brought you back? Where do you think we are?"

"In the crypt. They must've thought I was dead—don't know why, 'cause obviously I'm fine—"

"We're not in the crypt," he interrupted.

Rose took a few seconds to look around. "I thought there was a tunnel at the back," she began.

He shook his head somberly. "No. That room was carved into the base of the plateau. There were no openings except for the one at the front. I checked while we were in there."

She frowned in confusion. "So where are we?"

"That's a good question." He stepped back and regarded her with sharp eyes. "How did you get here?"

"I just woke up and was standing in the tunnel."

"Woke up? Which implies that you were sleeping or unconscious."

"Yeah, I already told you that."

"What's the last thing you remember before you found yourself in here?"

"I went back to the wall—" Her breath hitched, then the words tumbled out in a cathartic burst. "I thought you were dead. You were lying there so still, not breathing, and your body felt so cold. I went back to the village to get the constable, and he brought the doctor, who said you were gone, so they were carrying you back to the village. But you'd dropped the sonic screwdriver, and I knew you'd want me to get it, so I went back to the wall. I was looking for it, and it was in this little channel at the base of the wall, so I reached for it, and…" She shook her head. Again she felt that strange sense of confusion and overwhelming loss. The shadows stretched over her.

Suddenly the Doctor's hands were gripping her shoulders gently but firmly, and his face was directly before her. "Rose, look at me."

She blinked hard. "Yeah."

"Is that the last thing you recall before finding yourself in the tunnel?"

She nodded. "I think so."

He lowered his hands. "I had the same experience."

"But I don't understand. If we're not in the crypt, where are we? And how'd you get here? Did you wake up here, too?"

He regarded her carefully for several seconds before replying. "I'm not sure where we are, except that it seems to be somewhere within the plateau. I really don't know how I, or you for that matter, got here. But I have to assume that I did indeed 'wake up' from whatever happened to me, just as you must have, since we're both conscious now."

"So you're saying you don't really know anything."

"Well," he managed to elongate the single word into two syllables, "I know that we're alone in here. I haven't seen or heard anyone else. And I suspect that our being here has something to do with the deaths of the villagers, because those two events seem to be more than just a coincidence."

"How do you reckon that?"

"Think about it, Rose. You found my body. You thought I was dead, just like the villagers who were found in similar circumstances. But here I am, and here you are, and obviously we aren't dead."

Rose shivered involuntarily as she remembered the odd sensations she had felt as she lost consciousness beside the wall. "Unless we are."

"Don't be ridic—" His mouth froze as his features hardened, eyes fixing intently upon her face.

"Doctor?" Her voice seemed tinny and empty in the cavern. "I was just joking, like you were when my hand was bothering me and I said I was sure I'd survive, and you said unless I didn't." She attempted a grin, but she could feel the grimace that overtook it.

He reached for her wrist and lifted it, turning her hand upward. His fingertips brushed over her palm. She shifted her gaze to follow his movements. He pressed this thumb over the skin with more force, and to her surprise Rose felt no pain.

"There's nothing here," he said flatly.

The light was dim, but she could still see that her palm was smooth and unmarred. "The aloe must've worked really well," she began.

He shook his head. "No, Rose, it couldn't have healed the irritation completely in such a short time."

Rose frowned. "Do you think we somehow lost a couple of days?"

He shook his head. "No. Impossible."

"Then what is it? How did this heal so fast?"

He dropped her wrist and moved his hands to press them against his chest. She saw him inhale a startled breath. "No, no, no," he murmured.

"Doctor? What's going on?" Panic began to burble up in her belly.

He took her hand and moved it so that her fingers rested against his neck. "What do you feel?" he asked.

His skin seemed rather cool. "Are you cold?"

"No," he replied sharply. "Concentrate, Rose. Do you feel anything?"

She realized suddenly that he wanted her to perceive the pulse beat in his neck. But there was no subtle thrumming of blood beneath her fingertips. She pressed harder but still found nothing.

"Your hearts aren't beating?" It was barely a question.

"No, and unless I'm mistaken, which I rarely am, neither is yours." He placed his fingers against her carotid artery.

Rose stood very still, trying to sense the rhythmic pulsing of her heart, but she realized that the ever-present beat was absent.

"I'm not breathing, either," he said.

"Yeah, you are. I heard you inhale a minute ago."

"That was a conscious action. But I haven't inhaled or exhaled for the last thirty seconds; I don't think I have at all, at least not autonomically, since I've been down here."

"But I'm breathing," she informed him as she took a breath.

"Stop."

"I can't," she began to protest, but he pressed his hand over her mouth.

"Just stop… and wait."

Rose expected to feel the pressure building in her chest after a few seconds, but she did not. She waited, starting to count, and when she reached one hundred she pushed his hand away.

"You don't need to breathe," he informed her. "Neither do I."

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Are we dead?"

He did not respond for a some time. Finally he said, "I don't think so, at least not yet."

"Tell me what the hell's going on," she entreated.

Much to her frustration, he turned and began to walk away. She marched forward and grabbed his arm.

"Doctor! Tell me!"

"I will when I know for certain." He continued moving, reaching the wall in a few strides. He ran his hands over the stone. "Strange. I can still experience sensory input."

Rose grazed a rougher patch with her palm. "Yeah, me too. But what's it mean?"

He tapped at the wall, listening, then turned back to face her. "You said Greare was taking me to the village?"

She nodded.

"Did he say where?"

"I think the crypt. He said something about taking you someplace cool where you could rest—"

"And of course he'd take you there, too."

"S'pose so."

Abruptly the Time Lord slammed his fist against the wall. "I told him not to put any more bodies in there!"

"You said if he found anyone else to keep them someplace until you could have a look at them, but if he thought you were dead—"

"That's just the point, Rose. I'm not dead, and neither are you, but if we stay where are for very long we most certainly will be."


	4. Chapter 4

Rose was suddenly exhausted. She sank down to the ground, stretching out her legs and leaning back against the stone wall. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process what the Doctor had just told her.

"So we aren't dead, yeah?" she reiterated; she needed to be certain she had understood that very important point.

"Not technically," he replied, crouching down at her side.

She patted the cavern floor absently, and he settled next to her with a sigh.

She said, "What do you mean, 'not technically'? And why'd you say we'll die if we stay in here much longer?"

"Not in here, Rose, in the crypt," he replied wearily. "They've put us—our bodies anyway—in the crypt. But it's airtight when it's been sealed, and even with significantly decreased respiration neither of us can survive in there indefinitely. The room's fairly small, and there are no other openings; I checked for that while we were in there before. So whatever oxygen's been let in when they opened the crypt won't last you more than five or six hours. I'll automatically switch to respiratory bypass, of course, but even so, I doubt I'll hold out for more than ten, possibly eleven, hours."

"How do you know that? I mean, how do you know we aren't really dead and this is some sort of afterlife?"

"Afterlife? Well, I'm _sure_ it wouldn't be like this." He gave her a small, inscrutable grin, then his expression grew somber again. "But to answer your question more empirically, I'm basing my theory on the evidence I found in the crypt. Did you wonder why I insisted to Greare that any other bodies he found be put elsewhere?"

She shrugged. But now that she thought about it, she recalled that he had seemed upset, even angry, just before he had spoken those words to the constable.

"Both bodies," he continued, "showed distinct signs of rigor mortis. Greare said they'd been found three to four days ago. In humans, rigor mortis sets in after about three hours and persists for approximately thirty-six, then the muscles become more pliant again. The presence of rigor shows that that young man and woman were dead for less than three days, which means were still alive when they were placed in the crypt. They suffocated in there."

Rose's head dropped into her hands. "Oh God. That's awful. How could that happen?"

"I don't believe it was intentional. I don't think anyone realized that they were still alive. My guess is that they were in some deep form of stasis, with only the faintest life signs, probably not even detectable with the technology available here."

"I've heard that sometimes, a long time ago, people were buried alive because they were in really deep comas and everyone thought they were dead. Is it sort of like that?"

He nodded. "That's one theory behind the tradition of the wake in some cultures. The body remained unburied and uncovered for a time in case the person wasn't really dead. There was always the vague hope that he or she would wake up."

"So how do we make ourselves wake up?"

"That is the question of the moment," he replied obliquely.

"If we don't," she began hesitantly, "if we can't find a way, will we stay like this forever?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. There's no one else down here. It seems fairly clear that the death of the body causes the complete cessation of the life force. My guess is that as long as the brain is alive, even at the lowest level, the basic energy source remains, rather like an electrical generator transmitting power so long as it's running. But once that shuts down, the connection is broken and…" He shrugged.

"What then?"

"Depends on who you ask. Christians and Muslims believe in an afterlife, Jews don't. Reincarnation is a central tenet of Hinduism. The Q'razalians have absolute faith in the melding of each spirit with a massive energy source that they believe powers their sun."

Rose said with mild exasperation, "That's not what I mean."

"Oh. Well, it seems fairly obvious that if our bodies die we'll disappear from here."

She waited for further information but received none, so Rose asked another question. "Are we really here in this cave?"

"Yes. Nearly all of our psychic energy has been trapped here."

"You mean our minds?"

"If you like, yes."

"But if we aren't in our bodies then why can we still feel sensations?"

"I'm not sure that we really can. It's probable that we're only experiencing what we think we should. That's why neither one of us realized at first that we had no heartbeats."

"And we don't need them because we're not in our bodies, right?"

"Yep."

"But we're both solid; we feel real." Rose reached for the Doctor's hand. "Why's that?"

"Well, it's the way we perceive each other. When you sensed my energy, you automatically formed an image of me, so that's what you saw."

"Before I knew you were here, all I could see was shadows."

He nodded. "Yes, same for me. But as soon as I became aware of your presence, I saw you, or at least the image of you that I would normally perceive."

"So the fact that I can feel you," she squeezed his hand lightly, "isn't real? It's just what I expect?"

He nodded. "At the moment, we're both just bundles of energy."

"And our bodies seem dead because almost all of our energy is right here. But why is there any left? Why didn't all of it get sucked down here?"

"That's a very good question," he replied. "And I think it's clear that the same thing happened to all the other victims. Their life essences were somehow taken from them, but just the tiniest bit remained, just enough to keep them minimally alive."

"So they might've recovered if they hadn't been put in the crypt," Rose finished somberly.

"Possibly."

"Unless they were cremated before they woke up."

They exchanged alarmed glances, and Rose shot to her feet. "We have to get out of here. We have to find a way—"

The Doctor stood as well. "Agreed, but panicking isn't going to help. We need to figure out why we're here, why this happened, both to us and to the others, because I'm quite certain that the answer lies in that understanding."

"But the others couldn't find a way out before their bodies died," she began.

He tapped at his temple. "Superior Time Lord intelligence," he reminded her with a small, smug grin.

"Right. So that's one difference, then, between you an' them."

"Yes," he replied rather absently, but then he shook a finger at her excitedly. "Yes, it is. Good thinking, Rose!"

"Umm…thanks."

He began to pace the cavern, hands clasped behind his back. "Differences," he repeated. "What are the differences? Time Lord, obviously. And human, which is of course a similarity, so that's not much help, is it? But we're here together, which is a difference, because based upon times of death, I think we're the only two who've been here at the same time. The others would've died one by one, before anyone else was taken. So what's that mean?"

"One by one," Rose reiterated. "It's like none of them worked out, sort of like trying out different workers in a job, or going to a different hairdresser each time 'til you find the one who does what you want."

"And why would you do that?"

"Colour's not quite right, cut's too short or too long," she ticked off reasons on the fingers of one hand. "Maybe you don't like their personality—"

He stopped abruptly and grasped her arms. "Yes, personality! You want them to understand you, to figure out just what you want even if you don't really know yourself."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Have a lot of experience with hairdressers, do you?"

He snorted. "Me? Oh, this is all my own style. But I've travelled with enough women to have a basic understanding of the relationship between a girl and her stylist."

"Yeah. Anyway, back to why we're here and how we get out," she prompted.

"Right. Perhaps it all comes down to understanding. You asked what the point was in keeping all of the victims alive. What could the reason be?" He waited expectantly for her reply.

"It was trying 'thm out, trying to find the right one," she concluded. "Or maybe they all died before they could figure out why they'd been taken, so whatever did this had to keep taking new ones."

He tapped her nose affectionately . "Exactly! Question is, though, for what?"

"I dunno, but seems to me the more important question is by who. Who did this to us?"

"I didn't pick up any signs of humanoid life aside from us when I scanned the areas where the victims were found, so we may be talking about another sort of entity."

"Maybe something like what we are now? Just a big ball of energy?"

He patted at his pocket for a moment before sighing. "No sonic screwdriver."

"You couldn't use it anyway. No real body, remember?"

He looked at her intensely for an instant. "But lots and lots of energy, which is made even stronger because it's been freed from physical constraints. All those little bits that normally fuel the cells are concentrated right here. So my psychic energy should be stronger, too, because it's not tied to anything corporeal. And if I stop using the bulk of it to see you, I may be able to sense any other power sources in the area."

Abruptly he closed his eyes and lowered his head. He remained very still for some time then looked up at her. "I can almost feel it; it's just at the edge of my awareness.

But I'm having a hard time pulling completely away from you."

Rose frowned. "Why's that?"

"Your need to perceive me in some bodily form is drawing just a little bit of energy away from me. You have to stop doing that."

"How?"

"Just close your eyes and don't see me."

"I'll try." Her tone was less than convincing. It was one thing to believe that she and the Time Lord were separated from their bodies; it was quite another to give up the very image that gave her hope that things would return to normal. If she could no longer see the Doctor, maybe he would cease to exist.

"I'll still be here," he reassured her, apparently comprehending her anxiety. "But not for long if we don't figure this out."

Rose nodded and closed her eyes. She could still visualize his face and sense him beside her, but gradually the image began to blur. She envisioned the softening of the lines of his body, and as she did they grew indistinct and began to fade. She felt a wave of panic but quelled it as she recalled his final words. She allowed him to dissipate, to drift off in all directions.

His essence brushed against the walls, and she found herself drawn to follow him. She discovered that her body had vanished, too, and she floated across the cavern, spreading impossibly yet inexorably toward the wall just as he had.

The moment she touched the stone, she felt it. Rose was overwhelmed with the sensations of deep pain and pervading loss. Wrenching grief flooded her as she spread out over the surface. And the anguish was not singular; it emanated from all around, as though she were surrounded by the souls of a thousand, ten thousand, a million others, all crying out in anguish.

She remembered the plateau; the image of the jagged scar cut from the rock pulsed through her. She knew that she currently possessed no spoken language capabilities, yet still she whispered, "I understand."

Then she was coalescing, her energy drawn together once more, and the pain was fading, sensation scattering away. She wanted to fade away, too; the fleeting memory of the agony clawed at her, leaving her aching with loss. She could just float away, spread out so far that the pain would disperse into tiny bits, little harmless fragments of feeling…

"Rose. Look at me."

The Doctor's voice brought her back to the cavern in an instant. She opened her eyes. He was kneeling over her; she lay upon the floor. She reached up to touch his cheek, sighing in relief when her fingers felt the firmness of his skin.

"You're back," she said softly.

"So are you. I wasn't sure that you were going to return. You were gone for a long time."

"Was I?" she asked, sitting up and looking about. "We're still in the cavern, but you feel real."

"That's because I told you to look at me. You have to be able to see me in bodily form to do that." He smiled sadly.

"Doctor," she said, "I know why we're here."

He nodded. "I do, too."

She saw ineffable sadness in his eyes, and she knew that it was more than simply her perception. The emotion radiated from him as strongly as it did from her.

"We have to get back to the village; we have to tell Greare so he can stop it," she said.

"Yes," he agreed simply.

Rose got to her feet. "So they'll let us go now that we know," she said hopefully. "They'll send us back, won't they?"

"I don't know." The Doctor looked about then shook his head. "Perhaps they'd have done it by now if they could."

"What?"

"Now that we understand, now that we can stop the pain and damage, we should've been sent back to our bodies. There's only one reason I can think of that we weren't."

Rose waited. "Yeah?" she prompted.

"Maybe they don't know how. Maybe they're able to bring living energy in here but don't understand how to send it back."

"No… that can't be right. They showed us, brought us here to understand, and now they have to let us go back."

"I'm not sure that they can."

"Then we have to find a way." She was already walking toward the tunnel, peering through the shadows in the hopes of perceiving an exit. "I came in through here, I think."

She found that the tunnel ended in solid rock. There were no additional openings, no side passageways. When she turned back to the entrance to the cavern, she saw the Doctor standing there.

"No exit?" he asked.

She shook her head. "But this is where I came in. There's gotta be a way to get out."

He joined her in the tunnel, looking about carefully in the dimness. "I was in the cavern when awareness returned to me. I suppose I could've entered here, though. I felt as though I were moving before I was able to perceive images."

Rose trailed her fingers over the wall. "How can we see?" she asked, momentarily distracted from the issue at hand.

"Oh, we can't, really. But we can sense matter all around us, so we automatically create images of it. Perhaps, too, the entity that brought us here is helping us to 'see' through some sort of psychic connection."

"But what we're seeing, that's really what's here, right?"

"More or less."

"Then we should be able to find where we got in. We couldn't go through solid rock, because energy is still a form of matter, right? So there must be some opening, some little crack—"

"The breeze," the Doctor interjected. Before she could ask for clarification, he added, "When we first arrived on the planet, you said you felt cooler air near the base of the wall. That must've come from in here."

He walked the length of the tunnel scrutinizing the walls and ceiling. Finally he pointed above his head. "That's it. There's a tiny fissure just there."

Rose peered through the gloom, but she could see nothing. "If you say so."

"I do. And I think the wall lies just beyond it."

"So we came in there. Can we get out, too?"

The Time Lord stretched his arms upward, reaching toward the ceiling. He closed his eyes. "No," he murmured, "I can't…"

"Doctor?"

He sighed in frustration. "The connection's too weak. We're going to have to be closer to our bodies. If the wall runs along here," he gestured again, "then the village should be this way." He pointed to his left.

"All right. Let's go." She was already striding out of the tunnel and back into the cavern.

Rose moved carefully along the wall, hands pressing against the stone. She understood that she might not be able to see any openings or passageways, but she thought she would sense the change in structure. After a few moments she realized that the Doctor was examining the opposite wall, searching just as she was.

She could feel the solidity of the stone, and after a time she perceived a gap. She bent to squint at it, forgetting for an instant that the thought of the tiny action did not make it real. Still, she was certain that a small cleft lay before her.

"Over here!" she called, and suddenly the Doctor was beside her. "Right here." She ran her hand over the aperture.

The Time Lord thrust his arm out then grinned at her. "That's my Rose, always finding the loophole," he said. "And just in time. Come on!"

He took a step and vanished. Rose did not hesitate to follow him. She felt the bulk of the stone pressing in against her shoulders, but she was able to move forward without difficulty. She could see nothing, however.

"How big is this passage?" she asked.

"Oh, probably only a few centimeters wide," the Doctor replied airily.

"A few centimeters? But we're walking through it without any trouble."

"Remember, Rose, we're not really walking. Our energy is slipping through, and we don't need much space for that. Really a millimeter or two would've been more than enough."

Rose was sure she would never fully comprehend how she could be incorporeal. Indeed, a bit of light emanated from above, and she could see her hands as she lifted them toward her face. She watched in momentary fascination, utterly intrigued yet equally appalled by the knowledge that her real body lay on a cold stone slab that seemed impossibly far away…

She gasped suddenly as the appendages before her seemed to waver then fade. She focused her concentration on the image that she expected to appear, but her hands remained strangely translucent.

"Come on, Rose," the Doctor urged, aware that she has stopped moving. "There's no time for playing junior geologist."

"Doctor," she replied, and her voice sounded faint, "there's something happening… to me."


	5. Chapter 5

In an instant he had turned back to her. She watched his expression shift from determination to fear. She thought he spoke her name as he reached for her hands, but she could barely hear him.

Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her forward, and sporadic, disjointed words seemed to flutter up against her ears: "oxygen deprivation," "cessation of brain function," "tissue death," "hurry," "faster," "stay," "with me."

She wanted to respond, but her efforts to speak resulted in nothing more than an empty gaping sensation in her head. She could feel the Doctor pulling her, and when she looked down she found that his hand seemed a part of her own body; his wrist was oddly attached to her ribs, as if he had thrust his hand inside of her.

"What're you doing?" she managed to murmur.

"Energy transfer," and this time she heard his words with more clarity.

"What's that?"

"I'm joining some of my energy with yours. Are you feeling any stronger?"

She nodded, and when she lifted her arm she saw that her hand was almost solid again.

"Good. Come on." He urged her forward, his hand still connected to her.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered.

"The oxygen in the crypt's nearly gone."

The passageway seemed to dim, and she struggled to maintain her perception of light. "Am I dying?"

He spared her a glance. "Yes."

"And you?"

"I still have a little time left. And there's time for you, too, but we have to hurry."

He pulled her forward again. For a short while she stumbled along with him, trusting him to lead her through the growing darkness. The absence of light did not really matter; she could still feel the stone surrounding her. It resonated through her and left her utterly bereft. She stopped.

"Rose, come on," the Doctor urged.

He was tugging at her again, but she could feel that he was weakening, too. "You're using up your energy on me," she said.

"We have to keep moving," he replied. "We have to get closer—"

"If we don't make it back, the people will never know, and they'll keep on causing the pain."

"We'll tell them," he reassured her. "But we have to get back to our bodies to do that, so we need to keep going."

"If we both die, they'll never know," she repeated.

"Rose, please, there's no time to discuss this—"

"You have to go on without me," she said. She wished she had the strength to infuse a bit of conviction into her voice.

He stopped. "No."

"Yeah, you do."

"Rose, no. We're going back together."

"If you had all your energy, if you weren't sharing it with me, you could go a lot faster,"

He shook his head and took a step.

"Couldn't you?" she questioned weakly yet unrelentingly.

"Rose, I won't—"

"Just answer me!" She actually managed to increase the volume of her voice slightly.

"Stop it," he admonished sharply, then his tone softened. "I'm not leaving you, and we're just wasting time standing here discussing it."

"But they have to know," she began again, reaching out to touch the rock.

"They will. I promise you that no matter what happens, they will."

He pulled her forward again. Rose could feel the decrease in energy; the sensation of limbs was fading quickly so that she seemed to float along behind the Time Lord.

"We're getting close, Rose," the Doctor was saying, though his words were muffled again. "I can feel it."

"Then go on without me," she gasped out, hoping that she could make her own words audible to him.

"No—"

"Yes. Please. You're gonna need… all of your energy… to get back. Don't waste it… on me."

She thought she felt his hand move up to caress her cheek, but her experience of sensation had nearly disappeared. Yet somehow she understood him perfectly when he said, "It's not a waste, never with you, Rose."

"Go," she whispered.

Suddenly his presence was gone, but she heard his words drifting hazily toward her. "I'll be back for you."

Rose was so tired. The task of maintaining the physical illusions was too much, and now that the Doctor had gone it was unnecessary. She thought that perhaps she sank to the ground. Finally she could rest. A gentle sense of tranquility spread through her as she released herself from all sensation and thought.

* * *

The Doctor sped through the fissure, drawn irrevocably toward the crypt. He knew that his brain was still functioning; the connection was growing stronger as he neared his body. The experience was odd but not completely unfamiliar to him. It reminded him a bit of astral projection. The tricky part was always in the return. But he was a clever—no, exceedingly clever—fellow, and he'd faced steeper obstacles before. Besides, this time round he thought he might have some help. After all, he had only been separated from his physical form to receive the message, and now it was time to deliver it. Granted, others had failed in this task, but he doubted that they had fully comprehended the situation.

However, when he reached the wall beyond which lay the crypt, he stopped short, relief immediately supplanted by frustration. He had expected to re-enter his body with a rush; the electrical impulses generated by his brain should serve as a receiver of sorts, naturally retrieving the errant energy once he was within reasonable range. He felt the pull, the innate attraction attempting to draw him back, but the massive, solid stone blocked his passage.

He tried to move against it, tried to force himself through some tiny, nearly invisible crack, but he met only resistance. He slid up toward the ceiling, searching for a point of entry, but he could find nothing. He wondered briefly how much time had passed since he had left Rose. He knew that she had precious few minutes remaining; the weakening of her energy signaled the initial stages of cerebral shut-down. It was very possible, in truth quite plausible, that it was already too late. Once deprived of oxygen, her poor little human brain would not be able to recover.

And here he was, mere meters away from her, but he was at an impasse. Yet the pull was still strong. For a few moments he was perplexed. It made no sense; there was no apparent way to move between the stone and the crypt on the other side, yet he could still feel the connection to his body. He knew that psychic transmissions were fairly unsophisticated from a purely electrical point of view, so how was it possible that they could penetrate stone?

If he'd had an actual body at his disposal, complete with limbs, the Doctor would have slapped his forehead. He did, and rather hard, metaphorically as understanding washed over him.

He had been too literal in his thinking. The stone before him was not really stone at all, at least not in truly scientific terms. Oh, he had no doubt that it possessed many of the characteristics of stone, but it had something else, too, something that he had overlooked in an incredibly massive way. He was spending way too much time around humans; their narrow-minded thinking and concepts were obviously rubbing off on him. He berated himself for a few moments for that, then focused on the task at hand.

Funny how it often all came down to communication. Well, sometimes it all came down to running fast, really, really fast, but he liked to think of that as a last option. Usually he was good at talking his way through perturbing problems and sticky issues. At the moment, talking wouldn't do any good, but communication certainly would.

The Doctor moved to press his entire essence up against the wall. As he did, he opened his thoughts to touch the emotion emanating all around him. Once again he was overwhelmed by sorrow, agony, and loss. But he did not back away; he embraced it all, allowing it to absorb him. He felt himself moving again, at first disconcertingly as his energy spread and thinned to pass through the miniscule spaces. He was disintegrating, quite literally, in order to penetrate the stone-like material.

If he had been quite himself, he probably would have panicked. But such emotion was impossible when little bits of him were dispersed throughout a rather substantial space. Still, he sensed apprehension and fear. At first he thought that they were his own emotions bubbling through, but then he knew that he felt the memories of the entities with which he was so intimately joined.

If he had been able to speak, he would have told them that he understood, that he would help them, and that he was so, so sorry for what had been done to them. Perhaps they understood him anyway, because suddenly he felt himself tightening, coalescing, as he emerged into the darkness of the crypt.

In an instant he felt the solidness of his own body, and he knew that he was back where he belonged. His first instinct was to take a breath, but of course there was no oxygen in the chamber, so he coughed and spluttered for a moment before he relaxed and allowed his respiratory bypass to function naturally. He lay for a few seconds gathering his strength, then he sat and slid from the slab.

The interior of the crypt was utterly black. He reached into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver, but his favorite device was gone. He checked all of his pockets to no avail. In the absence of light, he had to fumble about to find the slab upon which Rose lay. He touched her hair first, then, orientating himself quickly, moved his hand down to press against her neck. As he expected, there was no pulse, and her skin was very cool. He parted her lips, which were slack and pliant against his fingers, then bent to exhale into her mouth. His body produced just enough oxygen for a light breath.

There was no time for anything else. He dragged Rose from the plinth, then felt his way along the wall until he found the heavy stone that covered the doorway. Oh, this was going to prove a challenge. Truth be told, he wasn't even certain that the stone could be moved from the inside. He ran his fingers around the edges; the seal was extremely tight and well-fitting. There was nothing to grip, no way to gain purchase or create momentum.

He bent to exhale again into Rose's mouth. His body couldn't produce enough oxygen for two; he knew that, but still he had to try. He felt for her pulse again, but there was nothing.

Frustration and alarm swept over him. He hit the stone hard with his palms, just once, and uttered, "No!"

It was hopeless. He was trapped, able to survive for perhaps another few hours. But Rose—it was probably already too late for her. Even if someone should enter the crypt before his body ceased functioning, there was no chance for her. She had been so passionate about delivering the message, stopping the pain, and now she would die without the knowledge that she had helped alleviate the suffering of thousands.

The Doctor sank to the ground, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the cold, smooth stone. He had failed her. He had failed everyone.

* * *

She was floating in darkness. There was no thought, no sensation, just a quiet, soft, endless and starless night. Rose wanted to relinquish herself completely to the blackness. It beckoned her, enveloping her with peace. But there was something… some tiny little bit scratching and niggling at her. Wasn't there something she had meant to do?

Well, it was of little consequence now. She was floating again, reaching out for the lovely blanket of black. Memories faded, feelings fled, and Rose was nothing anymore.

* * *

The Doctor's hands moved slowly over the stone. He whispered an apology, sorry that his frustration had led him to strike the surface. Then he hunched over, once again breathing into Rose. The effort left him woozy.

"I didn't mean to do that," he murmured, stroking gentle fingers over the cool rock. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of my head right now. But I won't hurt you again, and I'll do whatever I can to stop the pain. I promise."

His voice echoed hollowly in the chamber. He could feel the gentle vibration in the stone beneath his palms. Indeed, the soft words hummed back at him. He was still light-headed, and admittedly not at his best intellectually, but even with limited mental capacity he knew that his voice could not cause the reverberation he felt against his hands.

Suddenly the Doctor smiled. "Oh yes," he said, "that's it! That's just what we need."

Within seconds the delicious tang of oxygen filled the stale air. A tiny crack of light appeared at the edge of the sealing stone. He inhaled deeply then immediately bent to exhale into Rose's mouth. He gave her a dozen breaths, then a dozen more.

"Come on, Rose," he entreated, "come back."

He lifted his head and pressed his fingers over the pulse point in her neck. He felt nothing. Hand clenching into a frustrated fist, he slumped over her.


	6. Chapter 6

A tiny pinpoint of light nudged Rose from the darkness. She was reluctant to acknowledge it. She had felt so calm, so rested, and now the mere effort of recognizing the slight change in environment seemed overwhelmingly exhausting. She tried to ignore the bit of illumination, but it was spreading, causing the blackness to fade to gray.

And then she was spreading out, too. She felt herself drifting freely for a moment, then she was surrounded by solidity. It was terrifying; she was part of the stone. She tried to draw back, but she could not. She was trapped, encased in a prison from which there was no escape. But she was not alone. Emotions surrounded her, bombarded her, and at first all she felt was complete desolation. But then another feeling suffused her; there was a small shred of hope. And as any human would do, Rose embraced it.

* * *

One more exhalation—he had to try just once more. The Doctor pressed his mouth over Rose's and gave her one final breath. He pulled back slowly, turning his head so that his cheek hovered just above her mouth. He waited, trying not to count the seconds, trying desperately not to visualize each cell in her body dying from oxygen starvation. His right hand remained against her neck, his left over her forehead, holding her head back to provide the best access possible to her airway. But it was no use. There was nothing more he could do for her.

He drew a shaky breath then carefully moved her head to rest against his leg. Suddenly he could not bear to see her dim form in any position other than a natural, restful one. He stroked her cold cheek, his thumb passing over her open lips. A tiny puff of air brushed against his palm.

He looked up, thinking that someone was moving back the stone, but the small crack of light did not alter. Air whispered faintly over his open hand again.

His movements seemed impossibly slow as he shifted his hand to rest two fingers against her neck. There—one beat, another, then a third. He permitted his other hand to hover over her mouth. Once again there was the lovely, gentle tickle of air—no, breath, actual breath—against his skin.

The Doctor gently pulled Rose up to rest against his chest. "Welcome back," he said softly, a grin tugging at his lips. Oh, he knew all about the effects of oxygen deprivation, but he would deal with those dire thoughts later. Right now, she was breathing, and that was enough.

After a few minutes, she coughed and lifted her hands languidly toward her face. "Look.. so real," she rasped.

"They are, Rose," he told her.

She turned her head, squinting at him in the wan light. "Doctor?"

"Right here, in the flesh."

"Where're we?" Her voice was hoarse, but she was speaking, and she sounded rather coherent.

"In the crypt."

"We made it? Back?"

He nodded. "Only just."

"What do you mean?" She shifted a bit so that she could look up at him without twisting her head.

"There was no more oxygen," he began.

"I thought I was dead," she interjected. "I was sure of it."

"So was I," he replied softly, then he forced a smile. "But we got a bit of unexpected help." He patted the stone beside him.

"How's that?"

"This stone was completely sealed—immovable from the inside. But just when I thought there was no hope, nothing I could do, it shifted, just enough to allow air to enter. And apparently that was enough to revive you." To her questioning look, he added, "Well, that and a little help from me."

She opened her mouth, ostensibly to ask another question, but he had discussed her near-death quite enough. So he said briskly, "Right. Now that you're up and about—well, not really up or about, but still, better than you were before—we should really see about getting out of here." He moved to kneel next to her. "Think you can stand?"

She shrugged and gave him a small grin. "I managed with imaginary legs. Think I can do even better with real ones."

He stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, gripping rather weakly, and he eased her to her feet. She wobbled a bit; he steadied her for a few seconds until she seemed stronger. Then he turned his attention to the stone seal. He pushed his fingertips into the tiny, recently created gap, but it was less than a centimeter wide.

"Do you know what happened to my sonic screwdriver?" he asked Rose.

"Does it resonate stone?" she replied.

"It could, but I wouldn't do that to them. I was hoping I could use it to signal for help."

"Sorry, but you dropped it when you were by the wall," she replied. "I was trying to get it when I got sucked in."

He smiled for a moment at her simple yet oddly apt summary of the night's events. "Well, then I suppose we'll have to try something else." He leaned in as close to the little crack as he could and yelled, "Help!"

"You sure we can't move it? We haven't even tried." She rested her hands against the stone, then pressed and shifted her body to the side. A small "oof" escaped her before she faltered back. She would have sunk to the ground if the Doctor had not caught her.

"I think my method's going to prove more effective," he said, easing her down to sit with her back against the wall. He rested an affectionate hand on her head. "Best thing you can do right now is stay here. You're going to need some time to get your strength back." He refrained from telling her that there was a significant possibility that she could have some neurological damage; it would explain the motor weakness.

"But I wanna help," she protested.

"And you will, because if you sit right here I won't have to worry about you while I'm calling for help." He returned to his position at the small opening, adding, "I'm sure somebody'll pass by soon." Then he continued his cries for assistance.

His throat ached by the time he heard a faint response. He thought a distant voice said, "Who's there?"

"We're over here," he called hoarsely.

Rose pushed herself up and nudged him aside. "Oi! We're in the crypt!"

The strength of her voice surprised him. He nodded at her to continue.

"Please, roll back this stone. We need to get out of here."

The voice was nearer now. "How… how did you get in there?"

"It was a mistake," Rose called back. "We got shut in by mistake, and now we have t' get out. Come on!"

"Just wait," came the reply. The voice was already fading when they heard, "You shouldn't be in there. Just… wait."

Rose shook her head in frustration. "He left! The bloke left us in here!"

"Well," the Time Lord replied airily, "I don't think he's deserted us entirely. He did tell us to wait. I'm sure he's just gone for help."

"He could've at least tried to move the stone by himself," she humphed. "I mean, come on, we're trapped in _a crypt._" She whirled around to squint through the dimness. "Are we alone?"

He'd had ample time to glance around with his acute vision while Rose was recovering. "Fortunately, yes. There were no other deaths apparently—or should I say apparent deaths—while we were gone."

"That's good." She tapped her fingers impatiently against the stone.

"Gently, Rose," he cautioned, placing his hand over hers to still her movements.

"Oh!" She pulled back her hand. "Sorry."

Sobered by the memories of their time in the cavern, they waited in relative silence until they heard voices approaching. They provided a few shouts of encouragement, and soon the stone rolled back to reveal delightful daylight and fabulously fresh air.

"About time," Rose said, stepping outside immediately.

She was greeted by the stunned faces of Constable Greare and another man whom neither of them recognized, ostensibly the stranger who had fetched help.

"Miss Tyler? Doctor?" Greare stammered. "How can this be? You were both…"

"Dead. Right. We know," Rose replied shortly. "Only obviously we weren't. You made a mistake."

"Good heavens. I'm so sorry." He continued to stare at the visitors with wide eyes.

"An' all the others," she continued, "they weren't dead, either, but they suffocated in there." She jerked her head back toward the crypt.

Greare blanched. "No. That's not…"

The Doctor shook his head at her in gentle remonstration. "Rose, not now."

"But—" she began.

"Not now," he repeated, then he turned to Greare. "There are some things that you really need to know—need to understand."

"Yes," the constable murmured, "yes, I'm sure there are."

The Doctor placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Let's go back to your office. I think we could all use a nice cup of tea, then we'll explain everything."

Greare nodded mutely and walked away.

Greare stepped into a tiny alcove to prepare the tea while Rose sank into one of the chairs against the wall. The Doctor eased himself down, too, weariness seeping through him until his keen eye spotted a bit of metal on the Constable's desk. He hopped to his feet and reached eagerly for the item.

"There you are!" he said fondly, lifting the sonic screwdriver to examine it briefly. "Thought I'd lost you."

Rose snorted lightly behind him.

"What?" he asked her.

She was grinning in amusement. "You sound like you just found your best friend."

"Time Lord's best friend—yep, that's what this baby is. It's got us out of a lot of tight spots. Which reminds me," he adjusted the setting and switched on the device, aiming it at Rose's forehead.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

He did not reply. Instead he focused his attention on the readings. He frowned for an instant, then a grin spread across his face. "Oh, well done, Rose."

"Huh?"

"Neurological function looks good—perfectly normal, in fact."

"You're checking my brain?"

He slid the screwdriver into his pocket. "Not any more. All done."

"Why were you doing that?"

"Oh," he replied just a bit too casually, "oxygen deprivation and all that." He waved a hand dismissively at her. "Now where's that tea?"

But Rose would not be dismissed so off-handedly. "You thought I had brain damage?" she asked with some alarm.

He cupped her chin softly and lifted her head. "You're fine, Rose. Everything's fine, or at least it will be once we've explained all of this to the constable."

As if on cue, the man stepped out of the alcove carrying a small tray with three cups. After giving each guest a mug, he settled in the chair behind his desk.

"What the hell happened?" he asked huskily. "What… what have we done?"

The Doctor perched on the edge of the desk, leaning forward a bit to address Greare. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known—"

"They weren't dead," Rose said. "Their psychic energy had been taken, but their bodies were still alive. They might've recovered if they hadn't been shut up in that crypt without any oxygen."

Greare paled again, and the mug shook in his hands. "I don't understand. Psychic energy? What do you mean?"

"Essentially they were in deep comas with hardly any life signs. I'm not sure anyone could've detected them unless they had very sophisticated equipment. The important thing to understand is why his happened and how you can prevent it in the future."

"But we killed them," Greare said. "Even if we didn't know…" He set the mug on his desk and looked up at the Time Lord. "Who did this to them? Who put them in comas?"

"I'm not sure that 'who' is the proper term," the Doctor replied. "On the other hand, 'what' probably isn't quite right, either. Really, it's sort of a combination of 'who' and 'what' because 'who' implies that it's human, which this certainly isn't, and 'what' implies that it's inaminate, which it isn't, so in fact—"

"Doctor!" Rose admonished. "Get on with it."

"Oh, sorry." He fixed his gaze on the constable. "It was the rocks. Except they aren't really rocks, at least not in the true scientific sense of the word. They're living beings with emotions, and they can feel pain. All this time you've been mining them, cutting away great big blocks, hacking up this plateau, and it hurts them."

Greare's eyes widened. "The rocks are alive? That's not possible."

"Well, obviously it is, since they managed to suck the life energy out of each victim and even managed to communicate with Rose and me. Tell me, how long has this village been here?"

"A hundred years or so," the constable answered.

"And before that, did anyone live here?"

"No. The first settlers arrived from the other side of the planet. They were struck by the beauty of the cliff and the quality of the stone, and they decided to stay."

"Are there other areas like this—any places with similar stone—anywhere else on the planet?"

"I don't think so. As far as I know, this is unique."

"Well, we'll check later just to be sure," the Doctor said with a wink to Rose.

"So Doctor," Greare continued, clearly trying to piece together the entire situation, "you're saying that the stone is alive, and that it took our people—or some form of their energy—to do what? Was it for revenge?"

"Oh, no, not at all," the Doctor replied. "They only want to make you understand that you're hurting them and that you must stop. The pain of being cut is considerable, and once removed from the plateau each living piece dies, so the others experience emotional trauma as well. It's been terrible for them, unimaginable really." He paused, recalling the anguish he had experienced when his energy had melded with the stone.

Rose continued, her voice husky with emotion. "They didn't want to kill anyone. They just wanted to explain, to make you understand. But before they could send the victim's energy back into their bodies, they died."

"I…" Greare pressed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"Just say you'll stop hurting them," Rose replied softly.

The constable lowered his hands. "This is unbelievable."

"Yeah," Rose agreed, "it is."

"And I'm sorry, but I really can't believe that it's true," Greare added. His features hardened and he stood. "It must have been some sort of hallucination, something to do with nearly suffocating in the crypt."

Rose was shaking her head. "No. It's real. They told us—"

"Miss Tyler," the constable said, tone quickly becoming concilliartory, "you can't honestly expect me to put any credence into such a bizarre story. I'm sure that you and the Doctor both had a terrible experience, but it's all over now. On behalf of the entire town I apologize. But I still have over two dozen murders to solve."

"Murders that your people committed!" Rose retorted with growing anger.

The constable shook his head sadly. "I'm going to send for Dr. Turia. Maybe he can find some reason for this fantasy you've created—"

The Doctor stood, reaching around the desk abruptly and grabbing the constable's arm. "Fantasy?" He pulled Greare from behind the desk. "Come on."

The constable reached for his pistol, which he had hung over the back of his chair. The Doctor quickly retrieved the sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the gun. A brief flash of light and a moment later the weapon lay on the floor, the muzzle smoky and sealed.

"Never liked guns much," the Doctor said.

"Doctor," Greare protested, "you don't know what you're doing. You're injured. Let me get you some help."

The Doctor escorted Greare to the door. He held up the screwdriver. "You saw what this did to your gun. I don't think I need to tell you what it could do to a human."

The constable shuffled ahead, keeping a wary eye on the small device in the Time Lord's hand.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Back to the scene of the crime," the Doctor replied.

It was still early morning, and the village was relatively quiet. Walking at a brisk pace, they reached the outskirts within fifteen minutes. The Doctor stopped beside the edge of the plateau.

"Are you going to kill me?" Greare asked.

"Pardon me?" the Doctor replied with genuine surprise.

"Like you did the others," the constable said. "I understand it all now. It was you—probably both of you—who committed the murders. You must have faked your own deaths to cast off suspicion. But I suppose you didn't realize that you'd be trapped in the crypt. That's why you told me not to put any more bodies in there. You figured you could escape much more easily if you were elsewhere."

The Doctor sighed. "You've been doing a lot of thinking, and it wasn't that long a walk. Well, I suppose I have to give you extra points for creativity." He grinned. "You really thought we were that devious?"

Greare nodded nervously.

The Time Lord chuckled. "Why are we so misunderstood?" he asked Rose.

"Get on with it then," Greare said, bowing his head.

"Oh please!" the Doctor said. "We aren't going to kill you!"

"But that thing—" the constable pointed to the sonic screwdriver, which the Doctor had almost unconsciously gripped and aimed toward the man.

The Doctor shifted his arm slightly so that the device pointed at the stone beside him. "I'm just taking some readings. Now shush. Watch and learn."

He held the screwdriver toward Rose then toward Greare. "This light," he said, touching a tiny flicker, "shows life signs. Watch what happens when I point it at, say this stone." He aimed it at a small rock lying on the ground. "See? No light. But when I take a reading from the plateau," which he quickly accomplished, "there should be…" He peered at the screwdriver, "wait… Yes! There it is. A tiny little indicator of sentience. I missed it before because I wasn't really looking for it, but there you have it."

Greare just gaped at him. "You can't expect me to take that as evidence that what you've told me is true?"

"No? I can fetch some more sophisticated equipment if you like."

The constable shook his head.

"Doctor," Rose said, "it's no good. He's not going to believe us."

"Oh, have a little faith," the Doctor began.

"No," she reiterated. "Believe me, he's not."

"How do you know?"

She pointed at herself, "Human, remember?" then moved a finger toward Greare. "And human again. Little human brains and all that."

"Do you think?" he asked with feigned innocence. Then he became more serious. "Constable, we're telling you the truth. You have to stop cutting the stone. If you don't, you're only going to have more deaths."

"But you said they weren't dead," Greare reminded him, "at least not at first."

"No, they weren't. But I don't think they were able to figure out how to return to their bodies, so even if the next victim isn't dead, he'll be trapped down there," he gestured toward the base of the plateau, "indefinitely. And even if he _can_ figure out how to get back, even if he delivers the same message to you, will you believe it? How many more will it take?"

"We need the stone to expand our village," Greare said. "We have the potential to became the major settlement on this side of the planet, and that would mean prosperity for all of our people."

"Ah, now you sound like a politician," the Doctor cut in.

"If you shared this information with the rest of the villagers, you'd never get elected," Rose quickly surmised.

"They'd think I was crazy," Greare acknowledged.

"Then you'll just have to tell them with real conviction," the Doctor replied.

"But I don't believe you! I can't." The constable lifted his hands in frustration.

The Doctor sighed heavily. "There's only one thing for it then," he said. "I suppose you'll just have to see for yourself."

Greare shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Come on." The Time Lord took the man's arm and led him back to the base of the wall, just beneath one of the memorial flower pots.

"What are you going to do?" the constable asked.

"I'm going to ask you, and rather politely I might add, to lie down just here, right beside the wall."

The constable shook his head again. "No, absolutely not."

"Doctor?" Rose's voice held a hint of alarm.

"Please, constable," the Doctor repeated, "just stretch out right there."

The man shook his head. "Please, you said you weren't going to kill me."

"I'm not, and if we're lucky they," he nodded toward the wall, "won't either."

"Doctor," Rose said again, "I don't think this is a very good idea—"

"It's the only way," he responded, keeping his tone firm. "Now please, Constable Greare, get down." He waggled the screwdriver at the lawman.

Greare's eyes widened in renewed fear as he sank to his knees. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his back.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot about that," the Doctor said kindly. "Herniated disk, was it? Or didn't you say? Well, we'll sort whatever it is later. Now please," he gestured with the screwdriver, "stretch out there. Get comfy."

The constable lay beside the wall. He was breathing heavily; Rose watched him with concern, sparing several questioning glances at the Time Lord. He ignored her.

"Move a little closer," he instructed, and Greare complied. His body was rigid.

But soon he relaxed visibly, limbs gently sinking to the rest upon the ground. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. The Doctor waited a full minute, disregarding Rose's distressed questions with a palm raised toward her and a few shakes of his head.

Finally he bent to rest his fingers over the constable's throat. "No discernible pulse. Good."

"Doctor!" Rose gripped his shoulder. "What've you done?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Keep an eye on him," the Doctor replied, already hurrying toward the base of the plateau. He stood for a moment looking up at the expanse of rock. The sight of the ragged scar along the top caused a tightening in his chest.

He rested his palms against the warm stone and closed his eyes. His lips worked silently for several seconds before he ceased moving. With one final exhalation, his slender frame sagged limply into the stone.

Rose watched the Time Lord's motions with both interest and apprehension, alternating her attention between the unmoving constable and him. When she saw him sliding down to the ground, however, she left Greare and hurried to her companion's side.

"Doctor!" she cried, reaching for his shoulder.

His eyes shot open, and he grinned at her. "Hello!" Then he frowned as his gaze moved past her. "Didn't I tell you to stay with Greare?"

"I saw you falling," she said, "and I was worried about you. Are you all right?"

"Right as rain." He hopped to his feet.

"And the constable? He's still alive, isn't he?"

"Most likely. Quite probably. I'm sure he is." He was already walking briskly back toward the wall. When he reached Greare, he held the sonic screwdriver to his temple then pointed it toward his heart. "Neurological activity's significantly decreased, but his heart's still beating, though very slowly."

Rose thought she heard just a hint of relief in his voice. She said, rather sternly, "And just how're you planning on getting him back? Because even with your superior Time Lord intelligence _we _almost didn't make it, and I know he's nowhere near as clever as you."

"True, but luckily he's got my superior Time Lord intelligence to help him—that and my bit of telepathic ability. Not to mention this." He held up the screwdriver.

Rose waited for his explanation, finally resorting to the simple expedient of, "Well?"

"Hmm?" He had slipped on his glasses and crouched beside the constable to study the man's face. "Looks peaceful, doesn't he?"

"Yeah—too peaceful. So how're you gonna save him?"

"Oh, well, that's easy. I had a nice little telepathic chat with our rocky friends and explained that they needed to show him what they'd shown us and then be sure to send him right back here. With his body so close, they shouldn't have any trouble with that. But just in case, I can extract his psychic energy with the sonic screwdriver, and once it's out here it'll just whoosh right back into him."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely" He adjusted his glasses. "Mostly." He twirled the screwdriver. "Fairly."

Rose sighed and sat down beside him. "So how long's it gonna take?"

"Not long, I shouldn't think. But let's give them, oh, I don't know, maybe another ten minutes or so." He was sitting cross-legged next to her now, fingers drumming absently on his knee.

She glanced down. "Ian Dury again?"

"Nope. Bow Wow Wow—catchy beat, that chihuahua song, don't you think?" His hand shifted to tap out the rhythm just above her knee.

They sat for some time chatting idly. Both watched Greare for returning signs of life, and several times the Doctor rested a hand over the man's chest. When Rose judged that at least fifteen minutes had passed, she began to grow concerned.

"Shouldn't he be back by now?" she asked.

The Time Lord peered at the fine crack along the base of the wall as though he could see inside. Finally he answered, "Yes."

The brevity of his response told Rose that he was worried, too. She watched as he adjusted the settings on the screwdriver then got to his feet. He took her hand and led her several meters away from the wall. Brow tight with concentration, he aimed the instrument at the small crevice. He watched the tiny lights flickering, beginning to shift his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Come on, come on," he murmured.

"Doctor? Isn't it working?"

He shook his head. "Just wait… it's not quite…" His fingers moved over the screwdriver so quickly that her eyes could not follow the motion.

Abruptly his hand dropped to his side. Rose suppressed a gasp; it hadn't worked. They had effectively trapped the constable's psyche in some sort of limbo. She wondered how long his body could survive.

She did not realize that she was staring at his chest until she saw it rise. This time she did not attempt to hold back the little exhalation of relief that burst from her mouth. "I think he's breathing," she said.

The Doctor knelt beside him. "Yep. Pulmonary and coronary function are nearly back to normal." His voice was just a bit too loud and cheerful.

Greare opened his eyes a minute or so later. For a long moment he kept his gaze upon the Doctor's face, his mouth moving mutely. Rose rested her hand on his shoulder, and he inhaled shakily. By the time he was able to form words, his cheeks were wet with tears.

"My God," he choked out, "the pain—the agony. I never knew; none of us ever knew. We'd never have—"

"We know," Rose interjected gently as the Doctor helped the constable to sit up.

"I'm sorry," Greare said huskily. "I should have believed you."

"It was a pretty unbelievable story," she acknowledged.

The lawman nodded then winced as he began to stand, his hand knotting into a fist. He rubbed at his back.

"Sorry we had to put you through that," the Doctor said, "but I think I can make it up to you." He aimed the screwdriver at Greare's spine, gave the device a quick twist, then delivered three rapid pulses of light to the man's back. He jumped to his feet and extended a hand to the constable.

Greare took it and rose gingerly. "My back," he began. "What did you do?"

"Oh, just a quick repair job. You had a nasty little lumbar radiculopathy, but it's all sorted now."

"How in the world did you do that?" asked the awe-struck fellow.

"Setting 36611—zapped the fragments of the nucleated disk."

Greare shook his head in continued confusion, so Rose said, "You probably don't want to understand, really. It's just what he does."

"What he does?" the constable repeated.

"Yeah. He fixes things."

The Doctor tucked the screwdriver back into his pocket then held out his hand to Rose. "And that would be our cue to bid you farewell."

"I don't know what to say," Greare muttered.

"Say that you'll explain everything to the village, make them understand that they have to stop cutting the stone," Rose replied.

"Yes, of course."

"That's settled then," the Doctor said. "Good luck in the election."

Without a glance back, he and Rose walked away.

* * *

_Epilogue_

The day was growing warm again. Sunlight reflected brightly from the pale stone, giving it an oddly lifelike glow. Rose stared at the plateau for a long moment then shook her head in wonder.

"Is Greare really gonna be able to stop them from causing any more pain?" she asked.

"I think he's been sufficiently convinced now," the Doctor replied. "Usually that sort of conviction is easy to pass on to others."

"Still, it's hard to believe."

The Time Lord's steps slowed as his thoughts sped. "Perhaps not so much. Do you remember my telling you about the Q'razalians, the culture that believes their spirits are released as pure energy that powers their sun?"

She nodded, suppressing a small shiver at the memory of their time in the cavern.

"Well, perhaps these stones—these living, feeling, beautiful beings—were created from the energy of other sentient creatures."

"You said you have equipment in the TARDIS. You gonna analyze them, find out exactly what they are?"

He sighed softly. "They've been through enough; I won't subject them to anything else. And really, I don't think it much matters what they are or where they came from."

Rose's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You're kidding. You don't want to figure them out? That's a first for you."

"Oh, I think I understand them well enough. I think you do, too."

"What d'you mean?"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "You were a part of them for a few moments, just as I was. You felt what they are."

She closed her eyes, remembering the emotions that had flooded her as she passed through the stone. "Yeah, I did."

His eyes moved past her face to focus on the glittering stone above. "And I suspect that they came to understand us, too."

"Did they?"

"They saved your life," he said quietly. "They altered their physical structure to permit air to enter the chamber, and I suspect that was no easy feat for them."

"No," she replied softly. "Couldn't've been."

"I think, too, that they even transferred some of their energy to you, because that's the only explanation I can come up with for the incredible recovery you made."

A fleeting shadow of despair flickered across his face.

Rose tried to lighten the moment. "Yep, that's me… incredible little ape."

He did not respond. He simply reached for her hand again and led her back to the TARDIS. He reached around the police box to unlock the door then swung his body inside. Once his feet were firmly on the floor, he extended his hand to her.

"Come on, Rose, and watch your step. It's a long way down."

She lifted her arm toward him but stopped for a few seconds to take one final look around.

"Living stone," she murmured. "I never imagined… There's so much that I never imagined."

She felt his fingers wrap around her hand and looked up to see his head poking out of the TARDIS. He was smiling, a mixture of admiration and approbation on his face.

"That's what it's all about, Rose," he said.

She allowed him to pull her securely into the ship and closed the door behind herself.

The dematerialization process was quiet this time round with scarcely a vibration. Within a few moments the cliff was bare. But to all eyes who would view it in the future it was exquisitely beautiful, unspeakably majestic, and worthy of nothing less than reverence.


End file.
